Page 15 of Piece By Piece

“Thanks for coming, I was about to die of boredom. I don’t know how people did it back in the day,” I say, exaggerating just to see them smile and roll their eyes at my dramatics.

“Have you given your statement?” Lily asks.

“No, they keep telling me to wait,” I reply and already, my mood is dimming. I just want to go home, take a shower,and change out of my party clothes. I wish Lily had brought me something to change into, I can tell the people here disregard me more than they usually would because I look the way I do. That is to say, like a beat-up hooker.

“What? You’ve been here for over an hour. Hang on, I’ll handle it,” Andrew pipes in. Before I can accept or deny the offer, he’s striding towards an officer behind his desk, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Lily just looks at me and shrugs. To no one’s surprise, Andrew is back with the officer at his side in a matter of minutes. I’d be offended if I didn’t just want to get this over with.

“Hello again, miss. I’m ready for your statement now,” he tells me, smiling nervously. What I want to retort is that he would have been ready for me half an hour ago if he had just stopped watching a recorded football game on his laptop with the screen turned away from me in the hopes I wouldn’t know.

But seeing as Andrew probably already gave him shit for his lack of professionality and my inconvenience, I decide to smile back just slightly and say, “That’s great.” We go to his desk where I have to tell him every little detail from where I was robbed to any characteristics I can list about the person’s appearance.

Finally, he nods to my split lip and bruise and asks, “That’s from the man that robbed you?” I nod but to my surprise, the officer, who didn’t waste a moment second-guessing any of my replies so far, gives me a skeptical look. Then his eyes flick to Andrew.

I understand what he’s building up to and my protectiveness for my friend grabs me by the throat, making my next words come out sharper than they should. “I tried to swing my purse at my attacker. He grabbed the thing andpulled at it. When I wouldn’t let go, he hit me. That’s what happened, as I told you twice now. Are we done, here, officer? I’d like to go home and change, and I believe you have a football game to finish watching.”

The man’s round face turns purple as he nods his head vigorously. “Yes, of course. Have a nice day.” With that, he’s off his chair and rushing to the bathroom. Lily and Andrew are with me the next second.

“Ready to go home?” Andrew asks as Lily throws her arm around my waist.

“Oh, yes, please.”

By the time my birthday rolls around two weeks after my mishap on the way home, I still haven’t had the chance to thank Sebastian for coming to my rescue. He hasn’t hosted any parties, and we didn’t go to any clubs. If it weren’t for the fact that all of my friends have been busier than usual, I would’ve thought he was avoiding me.

At least there’s no way I won’t see him tonight at the birthday party Lilianne insisted on throwing me. The party I don’t know the location of or dress code for yet. All I know is that Lily’s picking me up at three pm to do god-knows-what with me. Later, she said, we’ll get ready together so I guess I’ll be in good hands.

That leaves me with six hours to spare, which I cannot spend getting pampering myself since I have been given the instruction to be bare-faced and unshowered when my friend arrives. I’m scared to find out what she has planned for me.

For now, I’m working up the courage to step out of my apartment building to get my mail. I eye the short way up to my mailbox through the glass door before looking down atmy outfit. Fuzzy socks in my slippers, shorts, and a fuzzy sweatshirt. I’m so fucking cozy but even the sight of the outside makes goosebumps prick my legs.

I take a deep breath and force myself to push through the door, damn near howling when the icy December cold envelops my body. I make my way to my mailbox in jumpy steps, fumble to get the key inside to open the box, then make a clumsy sprint back inside the building with my letters in hand.

As soon as I’m back in my tiny, warm apartment, I grab a fluffy blanket and wrap it around myself. Then I sit at the table I threw my mail on and start opening the letters.

Happy fucking birthday to me is all I can say to the stack of bills. And then there’s the envelope with the neatly written address on the front. I recognize my mother’s handwriting and quickly decide that I’m not in the mood to open that just yet. Besides, I’m fairly certain I know what it’s about.

My parents have been begging me to come over some time to catch up, which I have. A few times in the three years since I moved out. It’s not that I necessarily don’t want to see them. It’s just that I’m busy with work most of the time, and whenever I’m not, I’m out with my friends or in need of some me-time.

Yeah, there’s nothing better than a hot bath with some cheap scented oils and a few candles to make me feel like the royalty I sure was in another life. I kept the attitude from back then, for sure. The wealth? Not so much.

Anyway, it also doesn’t help that every meeting with my parents is so damn strained. Ever since my mom got clean and it dawned on her what went down at home while she was busy spending money we didn’t have on drugs, she became horribly nice. In a very forced way.

We don’t talk about my childhood. Neither my dad nor my mom ever tried to pick up the topic and while I’m very fine with that and don’t hold a grudge for whatever flaws they might’ve had, the awkwardness between us makes it hard to be with them.

I know my mom feels guilty for not having been around. In the sense of not having helped financially, not having been there to make my meals or help me with school, and not having been mentally present enough to share any of my firsts with. Again, I don’t blame her but I also don’t feel the need to make up for lost time.

My dad’s a little more complicated. It’s not that I’m scared of him. I love my father very much and am eternally grateful for how he managed to step up and provide me with a stable enough home. There is no reason for him to hurt me anymore and I know he wouldn’t. Sometimes, when we’re left alone though, I’m just not that comfortable, but that’s my issue.

Yeah, I’ll deal with that letter some other time.

That leaves me with one more envelope, a cream-colored, expensive-looking, narrow thing. I eye it suspiciously and open it. The letter inside has been folded twice so the paper’s parted in perfect thirds once I open it. That’s my first indication that this letter is too fancy to fit the others.

The extravagant font is the second giveaway.

I scan the words quickly, my heart racing a little more the further along I get. When I’m done, I reread it two times, wondering if this is to be trusted. After the fourth read, I decide it is and jump to my feet, squealing like an idiot.

Oh my god, I’m going to kiss him. His signature isn’t anywhere on here, but I know it’s him. The name of thegallery I just got an invitation to is proof enough. “Rose Gallery” is the biggest art exhibition within a hundred miles, the one Sebastian’s grandfather sponsored at one point in the last century. The first owner then gave him the right to name it, so the old Henderson named it in his wife’s, Rosie’s, honor.

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